Calling
by LiteraryLuminary
Summary: Following the tragic events of OotP, Remus feels lost in his grief...until he receives a reminder of his remaining reason to persevere from an unexpected source.


Calling

The full moon had come again, as it always did. _No matter what else should occur,_ Remus Lupin reflected, _the lunar cycle and its insistent pull does not change._ It was cold comfort, he knew. For in addition to the physical pain that the transformation always caused, there would be a worse pain, of quite another sort.

This transformation would be unchecked; there would be no potion to subdue the wolf. For the first time, Remus found that he did not care, not in the slightest. He did not want to be human now, did not want to feel the sharp, relentless pain that twisted like a knife into his heart, deeper with every instant. He wanted to be lost to the wolf, wanted a brief period in which his mind would not endlessly replay the moment in which Sirius fell behind the Veil and was lost forever.

And it was in that that the worst pain of this night lay: he would be alone. In the years before Sirius had reentered his life, he had resigned himself to the loneliness, believing James dead, Peter dead, Sirius worse than dead. But no, that was only the way it appeared on the surface. James had died, but not by Sirius' betrayal, as he had believed for so long. Nor had Peter died by Sirius' hand. In truth, Peter still lived, and it was he who had brought James' downfall by his treachery, he who had stolen Sirius' freedom.

When the truth had come, and Sirius with it, there was a sense of mending. Yes, James' absence had left a void, so he could never be truly complete again, but a missing piece had eased back into place that night. For a blissful stretch it appeared that one shining fragment of the days before had not been swept away in the unforgiving procession of time. On full moon nights, there had been no need for confinement; why would there be? Sirius had been there, in his alter-form. The presence of the great black dog had calmed the wolf so that Remus, too, could exist within it. And for once the two minds had been in agreement; for both wolf and man had delighted in loping easily after the dog, playing a spirited game of chase as they had before, howling joyously into the night.

Now there would be no one. No one to calm Remus' anxiety before the change, no one to reassure him when it began. No one watching over him in the night; no second pair of eyes behind which dwelled a human mind, to keep him safe when he could not fully trust his own actions, when the precarious balance that existed between wolf and human was beyond his control. No one would be there when he returned to human shape, no one to relate to him the events of the night, no one to help heal his wounds and keep him company as he recovered.

_No,_ he thought bitterly. _Those days are over._ Now there was only grief, only the ache of loss. He was still and silent as the transformation commenced; he saw no purpose in giving voice to the pain. What was this agony, when placed beside the chasm that came of losing those who had been as dear as family? Remus did not resist the wolf now; he let it come. Then there was darkness…

The wolf woke in strange surroundings. It could not think in the way its human counterpart did, but it still sensed something amiss. Where there should have been the open, grassy field filled with trees, a sky dotted with starlight, and the glow of the moon above, there were walls, cold steel walls that the wolf could not break. Where there should have been the comforting intimacy of the pack, the security inherent in the intangible bond they shared, the familiar scents, sights, sounds, and the joy of carefree play, there was only solitude; a desolate emptiness.

The wolf was deeply unsettled now; nothing was as it ought to be. It raised its proud silver head and called desperately for its pack—a piercing howl that pealed to the heavens. There was no reply; no friendly howl in response from the dog, no approaching hoof-beats to indicate the presence of the stag.

Dread gripped the wolf now, fear as it had never known. It called again and again, each howl a frantic summons to a pack that could not answer. As the night wore on, the wolf came to realize that there would never be an answer. Always before, the rest of the pack had been there, had responded immediately when called. If they did not now, then the only explanation the wolf knew was that they were gone…lost.

The wolf's sorrow was not of the same nature as a human's. The wolf felt pain, but not of the complexity of human pain; it was raw, simple, all-consuming. For the rest of the night, the wolf cried out with the grief of its loss. This articulation was not of the same voice by which a human would express pain, but it was all the wolf knew. It was familiar in this place where nothing else was, a tongue for which humans had long since lost the words; one that conveyed only the most basic of emotion, devoid of the ornamentation and clarity afforded by more intricate language. No, in this instance, the wolf needed only one word, which rang out in a mournful howl, its repetition tireless: _Alone…alone…alone…_

When Remus awakened just after moonset, he found himself uninjured, albeit quite hoarse. There was no blood spilled over the room; he was unmarked by scratches or bites. That in itself he found strange, for the wolf usually tore at its own flesh in rage when confined. Unless…unless the wolf had realized the cause of his own grief. There had been a night like this before, many years ago, when James and Sirius had gone. But this time, he knew that neither would ever return; there would never be an answer to the wolf's endless calling, nor to his own.

With that knowledge, the pain began again, as sharply as before; the razor-edged dagger of loss twisted again, and his heart bled in anguish. Remus was still, not caring that his voice had nearly gone, not even caring that the aftermath of the transformations had left echoes of their pain. No, there would be time, later, when his heart's pain dulled, to see to those things. For now, he merely cast a Silencing Charm over the room and allowed himself to cry. Remus almost never cried, never raged, never went to the extreme of any emotion. But there were some times, this being one, when he could do nothing else.

__

What is my purpose now, he wondered, _as the last Marauder, the last one standing? How am I to go on when everyone I loved is gone?_ But of course, to this there was no answer, no reassurance. _And what,_ he asked himself, _is the use of being a wizard when there is no magic that can reverse the effects of death?_

Remus did not know how long he remained there, did not know how long he cried. He only knew that his entire world was lost in grief, and that somewhere, in the depths of his mind, the wolf cried with the human. But unlike Remus, the wolf had no questions. It knew well what purpose still remained, and provided the simplest of answers.

The wolf knew that most of its pack was gone, but in the mind of the human found that a part still remained: a human cub with dark, wild fur and eyes as green as new grass. It was different from the others, the wolf reasoned, but it cried for the pack, too. That made it worth protecting. _That is your purpose now,_ the wolf ordered. _Watch over it, protect it; do not let it be lost. Perhaps, some night far in the future, it will change as the rest of the pack did. And then we will run together._

At this most crucial of moments, Remus understood. The division between the human and the wolf was lessened now, the gap bridged by shared loss. A part of him was calmed, and the pain dulled slightly. He realized that one small branch of his family survived. Harry still lived, Harry was crying, Harry needed comfort and protection. And that was within his power to give.

__

Thank you, Remus told the wolf. He felt no fear now, no hate—only simple gratitude. This he knew the wolf would understand. For as long as he could remember, he had despised the lupine part of himself, dreaded the coming of the moon that would manifest it. But now…now there was some degree of peace, understanding. A realization of purpose.

Harry was that purpose. Remus could not take James' place, or Sirius', nor would he ever wish to do so. He had no desire to replace either of them in Harry's heart. He could not, he knew, act as a father figure, at least not now, although James and Sirius likely would have wished him to. Harry would not accept that sort of care from him; of that, Remus was certain. Not when he was still grieving so deeply for the fathers he had lost.

Nor could Remus act as a guardian, no matter how much his heart insisted that he should; for the protective spells that kept Harry safe from Voldemort would be useless if he were to leave his aunt's home; they were based on his blood tie to her. So he must remain there, though he would not be loved, nor supported during the aftermath of his loss.

The fact was that Remus could not easily give Harry the comfort and support that he so desperately needed; in this case, circumstances were against them both. He could not be there for Harry as he wished to be, could not be there to help dry his tears. And yet, he knew that they needed one another still.

Remus needed this last connection to the family he had lost; needed to feel that he still had a purpose to fulfill beyond the tasks he carried out for the Order, needed to have someone to care for.

Harry, too, needed a connection, a link to his mother, father, and godfather that Remus alone could provide. Harry needed to have someone to care for him, let him know that he was not alone in his grief, someone who understood his pain.

Remus went outside and looked up into the now-lightening sky, searching out the glimmer of one particular star. Astronomy had never been his favorite subject in school; he had disliked mapping the positions of the stars and noting the phase of the moon. It had always awakened a pervasive sense of dread in him, knowing that the full moon loomed ever closer. Nevertheless, this star's location he knew by heart; it was impossible to confuse with any other. It was located prominently in the constellation _Canis Major_, and besides, it was the brightest of all the stars in the sky.

He fixed his eyes on the star, and spoke for the first time that night. "I promise you, Padfoot, one way or another, I will be there for Harry, guide him when I can, and see he knows that he's loved."

And as he reentered the house, he could have sworn he heard Sirius answer, "I know you will, Moony. Thank you."

Finite Incantantem.


End file.
